


Wonderfully whimsical

by Read_all_the_books



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, SPN - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 10:35:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11251368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Read_all_the_books/pseuds/Read_all_the_books
Summary: At the beginning of something great, the whimsy of Castiel's life is strong and consistent. Dean is a great lover and friend, he's got the whole world in his hand and nothing could possibly go wrong. Or so he thought until his whole world turned upside down.





	1. Chapter 1

In our younger days, Dean and I were ambitious and always moving, we had friends, a great social life and better than all of that we had a love so fierce and strong that an hour apart felt like an eternity of yearning for each other. 

We were set on building our lives together, it was going smoothly and it felt just right. Dean had just gotten his job at the bank and my art just got it's first exhibition. Dean, although thought art shows and Shakespeare were boring and tedious, always said that he loved watching my process; he said that the way I made art was like a dance. 

But Dean was something else entirely, made of something much more. Dean was the stars in the sky and everything that was bright and warm and I was always convinced that what we had would never die, it never did. Not to this day, with this empty apartment and his empty garage, his tools still so untouched. 

While everyone was looking for their something more I had already found mine, Dean, this life with him and my art. As I look around at my studio, which was always full of half done sculptures and stains of paint on different canvas' and drying clay on my hands, was now clean, tidy and empty. Devoid of the music Dean and I had once made here. 

My hands were clean apart from the blood I saw on them every day. I no longer held a studio for my work and everything was packed and ready to get dumped apart from a small box I leave on the mantel, where it has been for the past five days. "Cas?" I hear Charlie from behind me and feel Benny's strong grip on my shoulder. 

I can't leave yet, everything I've had here feels too fresh and strong, it just makes me hold on stronger. "I know," my voice sounded muted and far away and the symphony of Dean's low husky voice floats through the house and down the spiral staircase. 

I look up at Benny to see stubborn consternation plain on his face, he looks impatient and as impassive as a stone, where he was usually warm and soft. "What's wrong?" I ask in the same voice, but he just looks away, Benny was Dean's best friend, nothing could tear them apart not even me. Not that there was ever a problem in that field, we were; all three of us, like the three amigos, always together and always stronger for it. 

With my eyes cast toward the box on the mantel and Charlie's pale fingers clenched around it, I tried to think of every day without Dean, without the singing and his loud presence filling every room the room felt empty although it was cluttered with three people. 

Everywhere I look there is a piece of Dean, the stairs that we built to make the one story a studio with a loft, I was always convinced we needed 'space' even though it now seems like a curse, to the clay pots in the corner and his old gross chair he'd convinced me into letting him keep. 

"Cas, we have to go sweetie, but we'll be back to check on you," I just nod and slide carefully onto the corner of the coffee table. They cast one last sad look my way before they set the door carefully on the latch. 

It's cold tonight, even though I live in Brooklyn and it's supposed to be summer, I get up and trudge over to turn the heat up when my foot collides with Dean's leather jacket that he always wore, it's worn edges ragged against my cold but clammy skin and my knees start shaking so hard I have to drop to my knees as my chest starts heaving but the tears don't come, I'm stuck in the infinite loop of heaving and feeling sick to my stomach as the red patches on my hands start to appear and I feel empty and horrified, it's strange mixture leaving a dull husk on the floor.

And that's how I fall asleep, shivering on the floor in the middle of our-my apartment, curled around Dean's jacket.


	2. How we are.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The way it is for Dean, isn't always how it should be.

"It's great, isn't it?" Cas beams, his face as bright as the sun. Cas has always been my personal bearer of light. And even though the heavy process of renovating a home by hand is tedious and tiring I can't help from catching the smile as it pulls my lips up. 

"I reckon we ought'a tear down those two walls there," Benny says from beside me and I see Cas' face light up in agreement, "What for?" I groan, Cas walks through the middle of the dust ridden warehouse, "Spaaccceeee," he sings as he twirls around, his hammer gripped tightly in his pale hand.

I love this carefree version of Castiel, tousled hair, wide smile, bright eyes and whimsical fancy at work. "You could make a fortune off of this place after we're done," Benny says idly, meandering over to the double wide, floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the Brooklyn river, Cas snickers and catches hold of my overalls, hooking his thumbs in the loops and hanging off of me toward Benny, "You're insatiable!" he declares in his most dramatic baritone voice, I laugh at them both.

I couldn't dream of anything better, this life here with Cas and his wonderfully weird masterpieces. What wasn't there to fall in love with. It was all a dream until he turned around and scooped up my worn leather jacket, the very same one I swore to throw out. 

"What is this doing here?" he says, disgust claiming his face, although I saw the impending smile lying in wait. "I couldn't bring myself to throw it out Cas, please, please let me keep it," I plead, my hands on his hips, our bodies swaying together to our own silent melody. 

He rolls his blue eyes but he doesn't say no, I kiss him lightly on the lips, hoisting him into my arms. Benny groans at the display, "Why can't y'all wait til' I leave," he storms from the room while Cas and I laugh at his theatrics.

Cas pulls away and gets halfway towards the windows before he whirls around, pointing one long finger at me, "You are not wearing that to my exhibition," his eyes are as serious as his pout. 

I look down at the sawdust caking the floor and briefly back up to him, "Nooo, don't you dare," he says, a laugh in his voice. I smirk at him as I strode valiantly forward, the task was perilous but possible.

"Cas, you know how much I love that jacket, I won't feel like myself," I whisper as I gently push him against the windows, hands on either side of his tussled haired-head. 

If I had to go away today, this is how I'd like to remember Cas, surprised and gleeful, with his wide eyes and loving smile, all tender kisses and soft words.

He laughs and it sounds like a song he's crafted just for me to hear. 

 

~~ 3 a.m. ~~

 

I woke up to a cold bed, the clock reading Three o'clock in the morning, but I hear the clay machine-thing going so I know Cas has had trouble sleeping. I roll out of bed and maneuver my way around all of the boxes and clothes were strewn across our floor and lean against the hole in the wall, Cas' back to me and I just know I could watch him like this forever.

I was wrong, this is how I'd want to remember Cas, all his passion in his hands and all his love in his eyes. I yawn and walk to sit beside him on the floor. "Cassie," I groan, resting my head against his bare leg. 

I can see his tired smile from here as he places one clay-dirtied hand in my head fondly and I've never minded. Nights like these have always been my favorites, it's what's saved me from nights of tremulous terrors and darks days. 

"Why aren't you asleep?" I ask softly, smoothing my hand up and down his calf. 

"I was looking at your face and the distinct curves of your nose gave the best ideas for a vase," I laugh loudly, "Why a vase?" He looks down at me then a small cheeky smile pulling at his lips, "Dean, you know, sometimes your symmetry is just that good," I chuckle again. 

They way his hands move is like a silent poem and the way his face is concentrated on every muscle that he uses is like a dance, one perfectly choreographed for his art and my eyes. 

"I love you," he whispers suddenly, his hand on my cheek as he swivels around to look in my eyes, his blue eyes steady and sure and his hands strong and firm on my cheeks. 

I smile widely, there was always that roadblock, the one with my insecurities painted across the box in the middle of my mind. "Ditto," his face scrunches up, but he lets it slip and turns back to his work as I stand to place my hands in his raven hair. 

And that's how we spend our early mornings nearly every day, his hands in clay and mine in his hair.


End file.
